Water filled my mouth and nostrils.

  Instinctively, I reached up with one hand, searching blindly for the next root. But something hit my shoulder—perhaps ice—and almost tore me loose. I held on by one hand. I couldn’t breathe.

  Maybe I should let go, I thought, and take my chances.

  But to let go was to drown or bash my skull against one of the many rocks strewn along the riverbed. My hand searched for the next root. Found it, pulled. My next grab was not a root, but cold flesh. It was Faye, and with her help, I lifted my head out of the currents and flopped over onto the mud bank, gasping. There, I turned my head and vomited the water that filled my lungs.

  “You’re right,” I gasped, rubbing my burning chest. “It burns like hell.”

  I closed my eyes, exhausted, and wanted to sleep forever.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Hours later, with the morning sun strong on our backs, we sat together and watched the river. We were both in our long underwear, which wasn’t as exciting as it sounds. Our jackets lay open next to us, drying, as were our boots and socks. Faye’s head was resting against my shoulder and I was chewing on a blade of grass, idly wondering how many bugs, sheep and goats had chewed on this same blade of grass.

  “You okay?” I asked Faye for the tenth time.

  “Yes,” she answered. “For the hundredth time.”

  Apparently, Faye Roberts was prone to exaggeration. Three hundred yards upriver, snow and ice continued to sift down over the ledge in a fine spray of sugar. These were the stragglers, trailing behind the avalanche. Some of the ice floated past us like miniature icebergs.

  “Doesn’t look so scary when you see it one piece at a time,” I said.

  Faye was silent. “Why did the avalanche strike, Sam?”

  “Most avalanches strike either during or just after a storm, especially storms that dump a lot of snow. Add to the mix a slope with more than a twenty-five degree angle and high winds, and you have a very typical recipe for an avalanche. All of which were in place last night. We were in the wrong place at the right time.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  I shrugged. “Ice under the bridge.”

  She snuggled a little closer to me. “Where does this river lead?” she asked.

  “The Ahora Gorge,” I said.

  “How often have you traversed this river?” she asked.

  “Rarely,” I said.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “It’s called Bear River for a reason.”

  “What a mess,” she said, running a hand through her sun dried hair. “And it’s all my fault.” “So, Miss Roberts, what did we learn from this lesson?”

  She stood and held her hand over her heart as if she were giving the Pledge of Allegiance. “No one goes out on their own, not even the great Sam Ward.”

  “You college professors learn quick.”

  She ignored me, concern suddenly crossing her face. “What about our gear?”

  I shook my head. “We leave it. It would be another day and a half to climb out of this canyon even with adequate climbing gear, which I lost in the dip in the river. No, we’ll follow the river to the Ahora Gorge.”

  “But what do we eat?”

  “Anything we can find.”

  Faye made a face. “What about water?”

  I undid a leather pouch attached to my belt, and laid out in the grass my pocketknife, a small first-aid kit, and a plastic hermetically sealed container with small pellets. I pointed to the pellets. “Emergency iodine pellets,” I said. “To purify drinking water. All good guides should have them handy.”

  “Luckily, you just happen to be a good guide.”

  “Luckily.”

  ***

  With our jackets and boots dry, we followed an animal trail which ran parallel to the riverbank. Thick foliage lined the shore: rushes, reeds, tamarisks and even buttercups. The canyon walls, disappearing up into the sunlight, were salmon-colored and reflected the noon sun like a giant mirror. A narrow strip of sky shimmered between the towering cliffs, like a blue sky river.

  The path was heavily overgrown, and almost immediately I was forced to stop before a particularly dense section of reeds and rushes. A machete would have been nice. I suggested that we backtrack and search for a more accessible route. She said fine, you’re the guide. Faye’s hair was plastered to her sweaty red face. I concluded that a lack of food and water, and a general sense of hopelessness had gotten her in a foul mood.

  The sun glinted off the churning water. Sunglasses would have been nice, too, but they were back in the cave, like everything else. We made good progress, despite frequent back-tracking. I used my forearms as a machete, parting long branches and thick reeds. Occasionally, when the foliage became too dense and the backtracking method failed to turn up an accessible route, we were forced into the river, wading with boots in hand.

  With increasing regularity, I was noticing how Faye’s blue polyurethane mountain climbing pants hugged her hips and buttocks. The muscles in her calves and hamstrings bulged through the material. I never realized how interesting mountain climbing apparel could look.

  The river made pleasant gurgling noises, and the hum of insects filled the air. I continued to part the reeds and grasses with my forearm until finally, we stepped out into an open field of dry grass. But we were not alone. I stopped, and Faye bumped into me from behind. “Hey, why are we stopping?”

  I held up my hand. But it was too late. An adult female brown bear turned her massive head to stare at us from the shallows of the river. A partially masticated trout hung from her jaws. She was a huge creature, thick fur hanging down around her belly, dripping water. The trout dropped from her jaws and was swept away on the current.

  That wasn’t good, because she was giving up one source of food for another.

  Her head dipped down and swayed from side to side. And then she roared, a deep-throated sound that echoed off the canyon wall behind us. I grabbed Faye’s hand. “C’mon!” And we turned and ran back the way we’d come.

  ***

  Faye stumbled and fell, reaching for her previously injured ankle. Behind, I could hear the bear crashing through the underbrush. I picked Faye up in my arms and moved as quickly as possible. We broke through the shrubs, and the ground became rocky, angling up toward the great limestone cliff.

  My arms shook and my feet felt leaden. I could hear the rapid click-click of the bear’s claws over the rocky earth. I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to know the bear was gaining on us. I made for a cluster of boulders at the base of the pink-stoned cliff.

  I helped/threw Faye onto the boulder, and as I pulled myself up, swinging my right leg onto the rock, a powerful force knocked my left leg out into space. I dropped to my elbows, clawing at the surface of the boulder. The bear snorted below.

  “Sam!” Faye shrieked, gripping my forearms, giving me the leverage I needed. With her help, I flopped over onto the sun-baked rock, safe.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The bear paced before us, snorting and growling.

  Faye and I huddled together as far away from the female bear as possible, our backs pressed up against the hot surface of the smooth canyon wall. When she got tired of pacing, or realized that we were not just going to sacrifice ourselves to her, she lay down in the sun, pink tongue flopping out like a big happy man-eating dog. The bear lifted her massive head to the sun, and seemed to lose interest in us.

  “Treed,” I said. “Metaphorically speaking.”

  “What now?” Faye asked.

  “We wait.”

  Waves of heat shimmered off the granite boulder. Faye examined my left calf. The bear had ripped the material down to my skin, opening a minor wound. Blood ran steadily into my sock.

  “It’s going to get infected,” she said. “Who knows where those claws have been.”

  “I’ll clean it later.”

  There was no wind. I felt as if I were sitting in a frying pan. The bear didn’t move; a frozen, hulking statue.

  “Doesn’t it have something better to do,” said Faye, exasperated.

  “This is probably the better thing to do.”

  “Doesn’t it realize I have a father to find?”

  I was pretty sure it was a rhetorical question. A small wind moved over us. Somehow it made the heat even worse.

  “Is this your first bear encounter?” Faye asked.

  “Third. I’ve discovered that bears have real issues with folks getting between them and their young. Or standing next to one of their buried meals.”

  Faye shuddered. “I think I’ll have nightmares about bears and avalanches for the rest of my life,” she said.

  “Join the club,” I said.

  “I’d rather not. Think she might go to sleep?”

  “Maybe, although bears are diurnal,” I said.

  “As opposed to nocturnal,” she said.

  “You must be a college graduate.”

  My pant-leg was now air-conditioned. Our shoulders were touching. I saw that Faye’s hands were shaking in her lap. I reached out and gently took one and held it in my own. We said nothing for a long time.

  “She’s watching us,” said Faye. “Do you think she’s noticed that you’re holding my hand?”

  “She’s probably waiting to see what happens next.”

  A steady wind swept over us. A gift from God. I half-closed my eyes and felt the wind on my skin. The half-open part watched the bear. The coming and going of adrenaline had left me exhausted.

  As the sun continued to sink, and as the shadows deepened within the river canyon, my eyes threatened to close for the evening. The bear turned in a small circle and found a better position among the low grass and reeds. The reeds waved gently in the breeze.

  “Looks like a big cute dog,” I said. “In a man-eating sort of way.”

  “She’s too close to be cute,” Faye said.

  A gray-necked bunting swooped down low and hopped across the bare rocks looking for whatever gray-necked buntings look for. It pecked into a fissure and came away with a small white seed. Satisfied, the bunting flew over the low shrubs and down to the river. If only life could be so simple.

  Faye rested her head on my shoulder. I continued to watch the bear as the sun descended slowly and the night insects came out in full force and deep shadows formed within the limestone canyon. The night insects seemed to out-number the day insects.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The sun had set long ago. The night insects were busy. A pleasant breeze touched our skin and did its best to cool the warm rock beneath us.

  Faye slept soundly, breathing lightly, while I drifted in and out of sleep. The bear, however, never strayed far, and each time I opened my eyes, she was there, waiting. Sometimes she would switch positions, lying on her side or back.

  Once I had opened my eyes to discover she was staring up at me just a few feet from the boulder. I sat up, startled, my heart pounding. Next to me, Faye stirred and made a cute sleeping noise. Wafting up from the bear was the stink of putrid fish. The stink was anything but cute.

  “You need a bath,” I said to her.

  The bear didn’t move, although her ears might have twitched. After a staring contest (in which I won), she lumbered back to the clearing and plunked back down with a groan.

  Finally, after dozing for an unknown amount of time, I opened my eyes to discover the bear was gone. I touched Faye’s shoulder. She awakened instantly.

  “Are you ready?” I asked.

  “The bear...?”

  “Gone.”

  She sat up. “I’m ready.”

  ***

  We moved north along the base of the limestone cliff, away from the river and away from the bear. Pools of moonlight guided our way. I could still hear the sound of the river in the background: insistent, clean, powerful. The hum of insects filled the night air—and even my hair.

  “Thirsty?” I asked after a while.

  “Very.”

  I changed course and headed for the river. There, frothing whitecaps gleamed under the faint moonlight, churning over unseen rocks. Most important, the river was bear-free. At the water’s edge, the buzz of insects reached such a frenzied crescendo, that I just wanted to yell: “Quiet!”

  Faye slapped her neck, looked at her hand, then wiped the bug guts in the grass. “Please tell me malaria isn’t alive and well in Turkey.”

  “You’ve had your shots, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” I said. “Now think unappetizing thoughts.”

  To contain the water, a tortoise shell, sea shell, or a hollowed rock would have worked nicely. With none around, I improvised. I removed my jacket and unbuttoned my hood, dipping the water-resistant nylon into the fast-moving current and coming up with a hood-full of water. I added an iodine pill, waited for it to dissolve, then cinched the hood with the drawstring and swirled the contents. A moment later, I took a drink. The water had a slightly chemical taste, like drinking pool water. But most important it was quenching, and safe. I drank about half and handed the rest to Faye. She was careful not to spill.

  “So what happens when you drink unpurified water?” she asked, handing back the empty hood, which I reapplied to my jacket.

  I said, “In your immediate future would be cholera, typhoid and flukes, which bore into your bloodstream and live as parasites and cause diseases. Not good. Luckily, iodine tablets take care of all that.”

  She sighed. “So what do we do for food, sir?”

  I thought about that, then removed my boots and socks and waded out into the cold river, moving slowly along the shallows.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Hunting,” I said. “Men do these sorts of things.”

  A rock shifted under my bare foot. I reached into the water and felt around under the rock. Nothing but muck. I moved farther upriver. Faye kept pace along the riverbank.

  “Whatever you hope to find under those rocks can just stay there. I’ve lost my appetite.”

  “I think you’ll change your mind when you get hungry enough.”

  Another rock shifted. I stopped and pried it up and something scurried over my foot. I plunged both hands into the water, coming up with a writhing crayfish. I held it up proudly.

  “Yummy,” said Faye.

  I ignored her and continued upriver until I found another such creature under another such rock. Back on the riverbank, I used a flat, sharp-edged volcanic rock to dig a pit. I surrounded the pit with medium-sized rocks, large enough to deflect some of the wind, but not large enough to deflect all the wind. I collected some dry grass, twigs and reeds for fuel; and finally used two smaller branches to spear the crayfish.

  Now came the hard part. With my pocketknife, I struck down on a medium-sized rock, but failed to produce a spark. I struck again and again, the steel blade clashing off the rock.

  “I think you killed it, Sam,” said Faye. “What can I do to help?”

  “Pray,” I said.

  She must have prayed hard, because my next swipe produced a white hot spark that caught in the dry grass. Blowing gently, the spark blossomed into a burning flower. I turned the grass over until the entire bundle was ablaze. I added the thicker reeds for kindling, and shortly we had a campfire. Ten minutes later, stomach gnawing at me like a caged rat, I set the cooked shellfish on two lotus leaves.

  “They’re hot,” I said.

  She dove in immediately. “Ouch!”

  I smiled and blew on mine, then split the shell and removed the white meat. Soon, the caged rat was happy.

  Faye followed my lead and took a small bite, although bite might have been too strong of a word. She chewed it like a mouse nibbling on cheese. Her next bite was much bigger. I think she approved. For dessert, I ate the lotus plant itself, which tasted like seaweed. Faye declined hers.

  “Full?” I asked.

  “Full enough not to eat my plate,” she said. “How are we going to sleep?”

  “We’ll be fine next to the fire.”

  “What about bears?” she asked.

  “We’ll take it one bear at a time.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  There were no bears that night, and when I awoke in the morning, Faye was using my arm as a pillow, brown hair completely covering her face. I hoped she could breathe through all that. I moved her head gently as she made tiny mewing noises like a stretching cat.

  Although the morning was still dark, the sky was beginning to brighten. My breath frosted before me as I added more fuel to the fire, which blazed up nicely. As Faye slept, I whittled a portion of the crayfish shell into a sharp point, then carved a small elderberry branch to the size I wanted, then wove the fibers of fresh reeds into something resembling twine, then used the twine to attach the sharpened shell to the branch. When finished, I held the contraption up for inspection.

  “Cute,” said Faye from behind me, voice groggy. “But what the hell is it?”

  I looked over my shoulder. There was a leaf in her hair, and crease lines from my coat on her cheeks. “It’s a fishing hook.”

  She yawned. “Of course. How silly of me to ask.”

  I spent the next few minutes undoing our shoelaces and then tying them together into a sixteen foot line. During that time Faye left for some privacy, returning shortly and sitting next to me. “It’s beautiful up here,” she said.

  “No one’s ever accused Mount Ararat of not being beautiful,” I said.

  “It would be more beautiful if we had some coffee.”

  “If we find some dandelions, I’ll grind the roots for coffee.”

  Faye shook her head. “Where did you learn all this stuff?”

  “On assignment with The National Geographic, you pick up a thing or two.”

  At the river’s edge, the sky was now pale blue, although the sun was still hidden behind the limestone cliffs. Clear water swept quickly over smooth rocks, gurgling pleasantly. I baited the hook with crayfish entrails and tossed it near a cluster of water mint, and waited. The smell of mud and mildew was strong in the air. There were other smells, too, but I couldn’t place them, try as I might. Faye stayed near the fire, watching me with her head cradled in her hands.